


Head Over Feet

by dracoqueen22



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of two men harboring feelings of love and the path they took in hiding them... or revealing them as the case might be. A series of interconnected ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wet

**Author's Note:**

> I have not played Crisis Core. All references to characters found in either of those are information I have gleaned from wikipedia. If, in any instance, it clashes with canon, it is because I haven't actually played the games. I'm playing loose and free with facts because I do not know them.

Tseng's heart pounded in his chest, trying to break free from his ribs, and he all but fled back to his office, polished black shoes a steady clip against the equally polished tile. He ignored his secretary, easily sidestepped Reno's jovial greeting, ignored Rude's tipped head, and slid into the silent confines of his office.

His door clicked shut behind him, his back falling against the thick wood. The snap of a lock sliding into place echoed and Tseng's eyelids fluttered shut, his palm falling heavy over his groin, the simple touch making him sag in relief.

_Pale skin, too delicate to belong on such a soldier, water streaming down the unmarked expanse. A birthmark decorated one hip, just above a shapely buttock, and silver hair had fallen loose from its bonds, clinging wetly to the sides of his face. The black swimming trunks were all but molded to his body, outlining every muscle, shifting with each movement._

Tseng groaned, the heat flushing his body unable to be denied. Why, oh _why_ , had Heidegger demanded he be the one to deliver the message. Weren't there lackeys for this sort of thing?

He trembled, images flashing over and over in his mind, making his cock pulse and throb within the confines of his pants. Tseng massaged himself through the layers of cloth, drooping against the door. A folder fell from his other hand, landing with a light slap against the floor, setting some papers to sprawling.

Drawing his lower lip into his mouth, Tseng ground the heel of his palm against his cock, knowing that he had to be dampening his boxers. But he couldn't stop, not with the images attacking his brain left, right, and center. Not when his mouth was dry from want, when Sephiroth's voice rumbled through his ears like auditory sex.

" _Tseng?"_

_Mouth dry and trying not to stare but doing so anyway, he watched as Sephiroth rubbed the towel over his shoulders and around his face. "Heidegger sent these," Tseng said, forcing the words out without a stammer, watching as Sephiroth's brow arched in confusion. "Apparently they are Alpha-Class priority."_

" _Alpha-Class, hmm?" Sephiroth repeated, drying off his hands and taking one of the folders from Tseng, their fingers touching briefly._

_Tseng swore that static passed between them, failing to stop his eyes from taking in the muscled expanse of Sephiroth's chest. From lingering on nipples that were discs of pale peach, tightening in the sudden shift from warm pool water to cool open air._

In the privacy of his office, Tseng swallowed down a groan, succumbing to his own perversions. He yanked at his belt, flicking open the buttons to his slacks and drawing down the zipper. His cock strained at the confines of his boxers and Tseng drew the heated flesh free, cold air washing over it.

His head knocked back against the door in a dull thump as he wrapped fingers against his aching self, hips surging towards his own warm palm.

He thought of Sephiroth. Of running his hands over all those muscles. Of laying his lips on Sephiroth's pale skin, tasting his nipples, wondering what Sephiroth tasted like that. Back then, probably chlorine and chemicals, but outside the pool? Something dark and spicy perhaps. Sinful. Exotic.

Like cinnamon and clove perhaps. Or ginger and coriander. Dark as it slid over Tseng's tongue, invading his senses.

The Turk sub-commander's head hung, his breath coming in low pants as he stroked his fingers over his cock. He leaked so copiously that Tseng didn't need to seek out anything else to ease his movements. His fantasies provided quite enough fuel, but as always, they compared nothing to reality.

" _There are better uses for the sub-commander than playing messenger boy, aren't there?" Sephiroth asked, those cat-like green eyes glancing at Tseng before returning to the documents in his hand._

_Only Tseng's great will kept the flush from entering his cheeks. "Well, no one has ever accused Heidegger of being smart."_

_Sephiroth chuckled, the sound sliding into Tseng's ears and making him tingle in all the places he didn't need to be reacting right now. "Indeed. We still wonder how he managed to flatter his way into his position."_

Tseng shuddered, his tongue sliding over his lips as his cock throbbed in his grip, the coiling of heat in his belly winding tighter and tighter, like a spring. It wouldn't take much; he was already on edge as it was. Just from a glance, a conversation, a brief brush of fingers, and now he was overcome with hormones like a teenage boy!

He berated himself internally, but couldn't stop the thoughts from coming. The wants and needs and desires that drove his fingers and fantasies.

He thought of cornering Sephiroth in his massive office, pushing the general of ShinRa's troops against his desk, Tseng's lips latching onto that pale throat. He thought of hearing Sephiroth speak, that rumble vibrating against Tseng's mouth.

In his fantasies, he grabbed Sephiroth's wrists, pressing them against the desk, pinning him in place. Tseng knew that he was nowhere near strong enough to do such a thing in real life, but that's what fantasies were for, right? To imagine things that didn't have to be based in reality, like the very thought of dragging his mouth upward and capturing Sephiroth's lips. Pushing his tongue inside, tangling with Sephiroth's, nudging their bodies together in all the right places.

Tseng bowed over, his heart trying to escape from his chest as blood raced through his veins, boiling with need. He gasped, fingers sliding over his arousal, across the head of his cock, sending tingles down his spine.

" _Tseng."_

The Turk sub-commander shuddered and spilled over his fingers, the echo of Sephiroth's voice in his ears as he spurted, a few drops splattering the floor. Tseng panted, shocks of pleasure echoing through his body, and he slumped against the door.

This obsession of his was really getting out of hand, he realized. He felt depraved, jacking off in his office in the middle of a workday, his subordinates just outside the door, all while he thought of a man who would likely stab him with Masamune before returning Tseng's perversions.

Tseng groaned, hanging his head. Life used to be so simple.

***


	2. Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is an emotion Sephiroth doesn't yet understand, and one he'll never chase.

"And then he said..."

Sephiroth only half-listened as Zack babbled into his ear, some story – likely hilarious and involving drugs or alcohol – that was his usual attempt at injecting some humor into Sephiroth's existence. Sometimes, it worked; sometimes, it didn't. At the moment, Sephiroth was too distracted to care either way, but he made appropriates sounds of attention when necessary and Zack was satisfied with it.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty hall, Sephiroth's quick pace followed by Zack's rapid steps. The general folded his arms behind his back, noticing how eyes averted as they passed, the faces of some soldiers shining with awe and reverence. Others twisted with envy. And some with another emotion altogether, one Sephiroth still wasn't sure to interpret.

"... Jude just doesn't understand that you _can't_ load a... "

The corridor was lined with massive windows, open to the elements, bright sunlight streaming through them in checkered patterns against the polished floor. Sephiroth's gaze wandered to their view, this side of ShinRa's complex facing the courtyard where a few training exercises were in full swing, as was usual.

Sephiroth paused to watch. As General of ShinRa's forces, it was only logical that he should observe the actions of the soldiers. Only, it wasn't the troops practicing down there. No, this group was smaller. They didn't run through manuevers, but engaged in hand-to-hand combat with varied weapons.

Turks.

Zack stopped once he realized Sephiroth had stopped, turning around to glance out the same window. "Ah, Veld has them training today, huh? Makes sense after that failure in Kodac."

Sephiroth made a noncommittal noise of agreement, his gaze focused through the clear glass to the courtyard below. Most of the Turks had stripped out of their traditional navy blue suits and dressed down into clothing more suitable for training – white shirts and sweatpants, with sneakers exchanged for polished loafers. Men and women alike traded skilled blows, looking as if they had been out there for hours.

Green eyes surveyed the assortment of Turks, pretending a clinical interest, but in the end, he searched for one individual in particular. His gaze skipped from a redhead, to a bald man, to a woman, to a tall blond, his brow furrowing in confusion. He wondered if the sub-commander wasn't present, until Sephiroth located him, alone in a corner, working with a training dummy.

Unconsciously, Sephiroth's hand curled into a fist as he watched.

Tseng's hair was pulled back like always, but sweat dotted his forehead. He was incredibly focused, those silver eyes severe and determined as he landed blow after blow against the wooden dummy. He wasn't thickly muscled like those drug-amped idiots that seemed prevalent among the soldiers, but he was toned, lean and fit. His strength perfectly suited to his occupation.

"Even Tseng's down there, huh?" Zack idly commented, never bothered by the lack of conversation on Sephiroth's part. "Veld must be really pissed if he's punishing his favorite."

A part of Sephiroth stirred at this revelation. "Favorite?"

Zack shrugged, dragging fingers through his black spikes. "Everyone knows that Veld's always wanted Tseng to take his place. Even from the beginning." Crystal-blue eyes glanced at Sephiroth. "Well, apparently not everyone, since you didn't know."

If it were rumor then of course Sephiroth didn't know. He hadn't the time to pay attention to conjecture, only facts.

He focused on the window again, pretending an interest in the others, but his eyes for Tseng alone. The black-haired Turk had paused to rest, swiping a towel over his sweat-streaked face and throat. His skin was a wonderful shade of bronze, so different from the pale, never-darkening shade of Sephiroth's own.

Sephiroth wondered when this fascination had began. When his eyes had started seeking out Tseng or he searched his reports for any vague mention of the sub-commander. And when his erotic dreams had replaced nameless faces and touches with images of Tseng, skilled hands that glided over Sephiroth's body, and a skilled tongue that tasted of anise.

Why anise? Sephiroth didn't know. But to his imagination, he always thought of Tseng carrying the flavor of black liquorice, dark and vaguely sweet.

Zack shook his head, stepping away from the window. "He'll have them at that for hours," he said, stretching his arms above his head before folding them behind his neck nonchalantly. "Pity the poor bastards."

Sephiroth didn't immediately move, captivated by the view he could enjoy without making it seem as if he were staring. Tseng had no idea that Sephiroth was watching, that Sephiroth entertained thoughts in the back of his head.

Pushing Tseng to the ground, divesting him of his clothes, dragging his palms down that bronzed back. Watching marks raise in the wake of his fingers, a pant of pleasure escaping from the Turk's lips. He imagined that Tseng would be rather silent, holding back his sounds until he had no choice to release them. And Sephiroth would make every effort to drag out a moan, or a whimper, or a whine.

Sephiroth wondered if Tseng's eyes darkened with arousal, if that pale silver became a stormy grey. If Tseng would submit or fight every step of the way, until the blood boiled in their veins and instinct took over.

"Seph?"

He blinked as though coming out of a haze, nearly jumping in place. Sephiroth forced his gaze to tear away from the window, focusing on his best friend.

Zack was waving his hand through the air, as though trying to get his attention. "Meeting in ten minutes, remember?" Zack said, his other hand pointing down the hall. His lip pulled into a grin. "Or would you rather spend your day dreaming away?"

Shaking his head, Sephiroth fell into line beside Zack, glad that the design of his clothes hid the fact that he was half-hard within the confines of his pants. "The latter sounds like a more useful way to spend my time than listening to Heidegger's simpering."

Zack laughed, nudging Sephiroth with his shoulder. "See? I tell everyone you have a sense of humor! Why doesn't anyone believe me?"

"Perhaps because you have a tendency to both exaggerate and tell falsities when the mood strikes you," Sephiroth smoothly countered, firmly erasing images of a flushing, panting Tseng from the back of his mind.

Foolishness, it was, and he was the general of ShinRa's army. He hadn't the time for such idle dreams.

***


	3. Wondering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparring with a hard on was a lot harder than Tseng thought it would be.

Tseng huffed and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, flicking it to the ground. It was late, supremely late, and no one else in their right mind would be in the training center, pounding dummies into submission but him. There were perks to being the Turk sub-commander, which included unending access to certain areas of ShinRa headquarters at any time of the night.

They weren't perks that Tseng indulged in often, but after tossing and turning for the last few hours, sleep obviously wasn't coming to him. So he dragged himself out of bed and went for a late run. The streets of Midgar were silent and empty, especially this far above the plate.

The run, however, had done little to exhaust Tseng as he'd hoped. He had less than seven hours before he would have to report to Veld for his next mission, and he'd not gotten a wink of sleep. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gone sleepless, but Tseng preferred not to lose that edge.

To the training center it was, and he spent the next thirty minutes running through a set of various stretching and strength-training exercises. They quickly proved boring, so he'd moved onto to the training dummies, part of him wishing for a sparring partner if only to keep things interesting.

"That doesn't look to be much of a challenge for a Turk sub-commander."

Tseng whirled at the unexpected voice, hand raised to strike. There was a blur of motion, soundless and quick, as his arm was blocked in an instant. It took only a half-second for him to recognize Sephiroth as his opponent, and then his eyes widened in mortification.

"General Sephiroth," he said, quickly pulling back and giving the other man a salute appropriate to his station. It was out of respect, really, considering that Sephiroth was army and Tseng was Turk and Tseng wasn't required to do so. "I didn't realize it was you."

Those cat-like green eyes looked him over, less cold than Tseng would have expected. "I have often been accused of sneaking up on others," Sephiroth said, the tiniest of smirks curling at his lips. "Some might even call me a Turk-in-training."

At the joke, Tseng's own lips twitched. "We would be honored to have you, if so," he said, and then noticed that Sephiroth was not wearing his usual black leather and armor ensemble. Instead, for once, the General was dressed down in comfortable pants and a loose shirt that still clung to his broad shoulders.

Tseng's cock twitched.

 _Down boy_ , he silently warned himself. No matter how attractive Sephiroth looked in the clinging, thin clothing, there was nothing to be done about it.

"Do you often come to the training center this late?" Sephiroth asked, and it wasn't until then that Tseng realized the Great General was actually standing here making casual conversation with him. It was so unusual that he had to wonder why.

Tseng dropped out of the defensive stance he hadn't realized he was holding. "No. It is merely that the perfect cure for insomnia is often physical exertion."

"Ah. Exhaust yourself into sleep then."

Since he couldn't fuck his way into it, yes. But Tseng couldn't say that aloud. The words crowded on his tongue, and a flash of naked Sephiroth with desire-drenched eyes accompanied his thoughts, but he wisely kept them to himself.

Sephiroth shifted then, a motion that would be mistaken as uncertainty in anyone else. "Would you care for a sparring partner?"

It took all of Tseng's self-control to keep his mouth from dropping. "I do not think I would be much of a challenge for you," he hedged, his mind conjuring up chances to accidentally touch the Great General.

His cock throbbed in his sweatpants once again and Tseng desperately hoped that Sephiroth didn't look at his groin, see the noticeable bulge behind the grey material.

"You will be a much better challenge than stationary dummies, I assure you," Sephiroth said. "Unless, of course, I'm inviting myself where I'm unwanted. In which case, allow me to take my leave."

Tseng reacted before he could think twice about it. "No, nothing like that," he said, and managed a wobbly, reassuring smile. "I wouldn't want to disappoint the Great General."

There was a twitch, a tiny flash of annoyance, that flickered across Sephiroth's face. "I'm sure that won't be the case," he replied, tone tight, and Tseng wondered if he may have misspoken. Obviously something had distressed Sephiroth. "Shall we begin?"

Tseng nodded, sliding into a defensive stance. "We shall."

Green eyes glittered as Sephiroth's feet slid across the hard-packed dirt, taking up an offensive stance of his own.

There was a moment, a breath, the second of measuring an opponent that came before any duel. Tseng wondered who would make the first move. His answer came when Sephiroth attacked, faster than Tseng could have even imagined. A swing of long legs that Tseng whirled to avoid, and ducked under in hopes to slide in a blow of his own.

The dance began. Light taps at first. Tseng glanced a blow against Sephiroth's thigh. A fist clipped Tseng's cheek, enough to sting, maybe bruise, but not draw blood. Sephiroth's hand-to-hand was all rigid and power, the stuff they teach in Soldier. But there was still a sense of grace to his motions.

Sparring with a hard on was a lot harder than Tseng thought it would be.

The sound of their harsh breathing, their footsteps and traded blows echoed around the training arena. Shoes scraped against dirt, and Tseng huffed as he ducked under another fast punch and attempted to aim a kick at Sephiroth's side. No holding back. He'd quickly learned that it was pointless. Sephiroth could take everything he dished out and more.

The kick went high, timed perfectly, but suddenly, Sephiroth wasn't there. He'd just vanished, and without a target, the kick put Tseng off balance. He cursed, tried to regain his footing, and then Sephiroth was there. Beside him, knocking his feet out from under him and sending Tseng to the ground. He hit with his back, breath momentarily leaving him in a whoosh, stars dancing in his eyes.

Before he could think of getting up, of fighting back, Sephiroth was standing over him, face bright with exertion, sweat damping his forehead. Green eyes were dark and he lifted a foot, casually placing it over Tseng's chest. With the slightest bit of pressure, it was obvious this spar was over.

"Yield?"

This was a terrible position. Tseng just knew that his arousal had to be obvious. "Yield," he said, maybe too quickly. He needed distance. He wanted to escape to the showers and the locker room, rub one out before he came in his pants like an idiot.

Sephiroth inclined his head and then offered a hand to Tseng, even as he removed his shoe. "I'm impressed," he said, and it sounded like he actually meant it. "You kept up longer than anyone else."

Tseng took his hand. "I still lost."

"But you lasted longer," Sephiroth replied, and hauled Tseng to his feet.

A bit dizzy in the switch from laying to standing, Tseng stumbled forward, nearly crashing into Sephiroth. Their hands were locked together and suddenly, they were _close_. Close enough that Tseng could smell the sharp odor of Sephiroth's scent, could hear the in-out-in-out rhythm of Sephiroth's breathing. Could sense the vibrations of physical exertion that Sephiroth was giving out.

Tseng's mind stuttered, going white. His cock throbbed in his pants, and when he looked up the few inches of height difference between them, Sephiroth was looking at him. Eyes dark and bright green and close.

Sephiroth kissed him and Tseng's thought processes completely halted. There was no hesitation in Sephiroth's mouth, no uncertainty. He kissed like he knew what he was doing, tongue sliding over Tseng's lips, mouth claiming. Tseng heard himself groan as he pressed forward, wanting to deepen the kiss, make it last. His hand tightened in Sephiroth's grip, blood rushing through his veins.

 _Holy shit_.

It was every fantasy sprung to life, except it was better because it was reality.

Somewhere, in the distance, a door slammed shut and Tseng and Sephiroth separated as though someone had lit them on fire. Tseng whipped his head around, caught sight of the night janitor coming into the training arena. He hadn't noticed them yet, puttering around as he did his duty, but it wouldn't take long before he saw the two men in the middle of the arena.

Tseng's entire body was vibrating with need, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Adrenaline, right? Had to be.

"Thanks for the spar," he said, feeling himself draw away. First one step and then another. He felt awkward, but more than that, he felt keyed up. What Tseng wanted was _privacy_. Somewhere to curl fingers around his cock and with a few strokes, come harder than he could probably ever remember.

He could feel Sephiroth's eyes on him. "We should do it again sometime," the Great General said, and once again, he sounded like he meant it.

Tseng could hardly believe his ears. "Yes," he agreed, and turned, clasping Sephiroth's hands as though they were mere acquaintances, painfully aware of the janitor poking around the arena. It took only one set of eyes, one pair of loose lips to get a rumor going. Sephiroth didn't need that. "I agree."

There was nothing more to say. Tseng looked at Sephiroth, felt a tug of want and need deep inside himself, and then turned and forced his body to move. And quickly it did, as fast as he could toward the showers where he could finally find some relief. His body was keyed, vibrating with energy, and words bounced around in his skull.

He felt Sephiroth watching him the whole time and had to fight back a shiver. It was impossible, but a man could dream. A man could imagine whatever he wanted. A man could wonder, and wonder Tseng did.

If only.

****


	4. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sephiroth is anxiously patient.

It was weeks before Sephiroth saw or heard from Tseng again. The sub-commander had been busy on one mission after another, as though he were avoiding Sephiroth. As though what passed between them in the training arena was easily forgettable.

Sephiroth, for his part, would not be allowed to forget. The memory haunted his dreams. The ghostly feeling and taste of Tseng's lips. The sight of the Turk flushed and bathed in sweat, clothes stickily clinging to his body. The evidence of his arousal, a bulge beneath the covering of his thin pants.

It was the sight of it which bought Sephiroth his vowel. He'd only noticed it when they were sparring, and that was when Sephiroth's own world shoved into overdrive.

Tseng was hard. For battle, for him? Sephiroth's own libido dearly wished for the latter. He took a chance; he kissed the Turk. Told himself that he was risking little with the opportunity for gaining much. They were Turk and Soldier after all. If Sephiroth didn't want to cross paths with Tseng again, he wouldn't have to.

Except that Tseng returned the kiss. With hunger, voraciously even. If not for the unfortunate appearance of that janitor, who knew how far they may have gone? Sephiroth's body filled with heat at the thought.

Sephiroth wanted Tseng. It appeared that the Turk wanted him in return. Sephiroth saw no reason to keep this from happening. Turks and Soldier weren't meant to mix, but he would have to find an exception in this case. No one else would do.

Except, for this to happen, Sephiroth would actually have to speak with Tseng. Weeks had gone by since he'd even had a glimpse of the Turk. Their schedules were completely conflicting, leaving Sephiroth standing on the precipice, his nights filled with vivid dreams and his days haunted by the memories of said dreams.

They were distracting him. Even Zack had noticed, going so far as to comment on it. Sephiroth had rebuffed his curiosities, but Zack was like a dog with a bone. He wasn't going to let up until Sephiroth revealed the truth.

"You missed."

"I did _not_ miss," Sephiroth replied tightly, feeling a vein in his forehead tick, a response oddly reminiscent of Zack on another one of his long harangue's about Professor Hojo and how worthless the greasy scientist was. "I miscalculated the curve of my trajectory."

Zack tossed him a sidelong look. "Semantics, Seph. It's all the same thing. _You missed_." And then he grinned. "You were distracted."

"I was not."

"You were, too."

"I was-" Sephiroth cut himself off, before he let Zack get him trapped in a juvenile exchange of phrases. "I am a busy man, Fair. Free time is at a premium. President Shinra-"

Zack snorted, waving one hand through the air. "You keep talking and all I hear is blah, blah, blah, Sephiroth." He moved ahead of the General and started walking backward of all things, watching Sephiroth with no small amount of amusement. "Work never distracts you. And I know you've been hiding something from me. So spill it."

Sephiroth's arms folded over his chest as he slowed to a halt, unwilling to chance Zack backing into someone important and causing an outright mess of things. "How many times must I repeat the same tired argument until you believe me?"

"When it's actually the truth," Zack replied with a quick grin. He bounced on his heels, blue eyes sharply glancing over Sephiroth from head to toe. "So maybe I should stop asking _what_ it is you are hiding from me and change it to _who._ "

If there was one person in all of ShinRa that Sephiroth trusted – though he'd never admit so aloud – it was Zack. Yet, Sephiroth still hesitated. Such things were private and he'd had enough trouble admitting the truth to himself, much less aloud to anyone else. Besides, he suspected he already knew what Zack's solution would be to the problem and was loathe to find himself _accidentally_ locked into the nearest storage closet with Tseng.

That might solve Sephiroth's problem of being able to find said Turk, but it was humiliating. As well as disgusting. Those closets were notorious for being filthy, close in confines, and dark.

In the end, it came down to self-preservation.

Sephiroth sighed. "Zack-"

"Am I interrupting something?" The voice was simultaneously amused and curious and familiar enough that Sephiroth whirled with distinctly less poise than he was used to employing.

His eyes fell on the familiar – if randomly absent – form of Tseng, who stood with his hands behind his back, one eyebrow arched as his gaze flicked between Zack and a now mortified Sephiroth. Tseng, for his part, didn't look much the worse for wear for all that he'd spend the last six weeks bouncing from one mission to the next, his clothes perfectly pressed, his expression composed, save for the glimmer of heat in silver eyes.

Zack leaned around Sephiroth, waving cheerfully. "Hello, Tseng. I see you returned from Glacier in one piece."

"Yes, I did," Tseng confirmed. "Though if I never see another snow-covered mountain again, I won't complain." His gaze flickered to Sephiroth, head inclining in a show of respect. "Good afternoon, General."

Sephiroth twitched. "Tseng," he replied respectfully, and thought that Zack would have to be a moron to miss the tension simmering in the air. The way Sephiroth couldn't keep his eyes from Tseng and the way the Turk was watching him in return.

The memory of the kiss replayed in the back of Sephiroth's mind, complete with color and taste and touch.

"What brings you down to the military side?" Zack asked, the slow curve of his lips all the proof Sephiroth needed that his best friend was at his most observant.

"I delivered a copy of my report to Heidegger," Tseng replied, frustration coloring the amusement in his tone. "Apparently, it was of the utmost importance."

Zack snorted. "They've got you playing delivery boy again? Sucks to be you."

"Indeed." Tseng made a noise of agreement in his throat before allowing his gaze to slide to Sephiroth, who should have been recalling the details of the Glacier mission and wondering why it was so important. "It did, however, provide me with the opportunity to borrow a moment of the General's time. If he is so inclined."

Sephiroth was glad for his self-control, as it prevented him from breaking into a broad grin and betraying the truth of his reaction. "At present, I have the time for a meeting," he replied, and his eyes shifted to Zack. "Fair, if you'll excuse us."

Black eyebrows nearly crawled to his hairlines. "No problem, Seph," Zack said, blue gaze bright with thought. "I can see where I'm intruding. I'll catch ya later."

He waved a hand through the air and turned, heading down the hall away from Sephiroth and Tseng, though not without a passing, considering glance over his shoulder. Sephiroth signed inwardly. Zack was no fool. No doubt he'd already put two and two together and would be harassing him about it soon enough.

Best to make things worth the inevitable teasing then.

With Zack gone, the hallway was unusually abandoned. Where there was normally a hustle and bustle of couriers, low ranking officers, and harried secretaries, the corridor was oddly silent and empty. Rather fortuitous, actually.

Sephiroth shifted his gaze back to Tseng, finding the Turk watching him intently, those molten eyes darkening to a gunmetal grey. "Your mission was a success?" he asked, inwardly cursing himself for having only topics of _work_ to start the conversation.

"By Turk guidelines, yes," Tseng replied, a hint of dark humor in his tone. "But it wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about."

Something inside Sephiroth leapt with thrill. He turned, folding his arms behind his back, to conceal his out of character glee. "Walk with me," he said, and Tseng fell in step beside him.

"I am on leave for the next week," Tseng said, before Sephiroth could even formulate a more useful segue into the conversation he intended to hold. "I find that my week of down time is inexplicably free."

There was an invitation in his words. All Sephiroth had to do was accept it. He felt ridiculously grateful that Tseng had been the one with the courage this time. He'd have only flubbed it up.

Sephiroth spoke, voice even and not betraying the excited racing of his heart. "I would be interested in another spar with you, Tseng," he replied, being purposefully vague. "Tuesday and Thursday are my free evenings."

Silver eyes watched him from the side, a glance Sephiroth caught in profile. "Thursday would suit."

Pausing mid-stride, Sephiroth looked directly at Tseng, wondering if the building lust was as obvious in his eyes, as it was in Tseng's. "Thursday it is."

Tseng's lips twitched before he inclined his head. "I'll see you then," he said, and politely excused himself, just before a random soldier came striding down the hallway, playing oblivious witness to their conversation.

Sephiroth watched Tseng go, anticipation curling inside of him.

Thursday it was.

****


	5. Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both men get what they've been asking for.

The missive came at exactly noon, when Sephiroth would be finishing his shift for the day, and was delivered personally by one Zack Fair. Perhaps the only one Sephiroth could trust with such potentially damaging words.

Tseng knew that the military hierarchy would frown upon he and Sephiroth building something beyond a working relationship. Friendship would appall them, much less whatever else might be brewing. And when it came down to it, Tseng was far more expendable than Sephiroth, at least according to Shinra. This care and tact was as much for the Turk's protection as it was for their privacy.

The missive was brief and to the point, without a wasted word.

_I find that the training arena is too public. My personal quarters have an appropriate private ring that is more preferable. See you at seven._

If anyone had intercepted it, the note would have come off as stiff, formal, nothing more than a training exercise between two of ShinRa's top employees. Only Tseng –and most likely Fair as well – knew what truth lay behind the invitation. It was like a dream come true to Tseng, if he believed in such things as insubstantial as dreams.

Seven hours seemed to drag into eternity for Tseng, who couldn't concentrate on his reports, much less finalizing the infiltration plan for a certain mission that Heidegger thought of the most importance. Luckily, this mission wouldn't be assigned and completed until after Tseng returned from his brief leave of absence. Which started the moment the clock ticked past five in the evening.

Tseng sat back in his chair, drummed the end of his pencil against his desk, and watched the minute hand tick by. His thoughts were everywhere but on his work. No. That was inaccurate. His thoughts were specifically in one place, on one person in particular.

Sephiroth of course. How could they not be? The invitation had been given and accepted. Tseng was to meet with the Great General at seven this evening. Had they said out loud te reasons for this meeting? No. But Tseng could read between the lines, could see the hunger in Sephiroth's eyes. Could read the desperation in that kiss they'd shared.

Tseng knew exactly where this evening was going. How could he concentrate on anything else? He'd always thought himself capable of focusing through any distraction, but clearly, his composure had never faced the prospect of sex with Sephiroth.

Just the thought was enough to send a shiver down Tseng's spine, complimenting the low curl of arousal that was building in his groin.

Tseng closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against his chair. He drew in several deep breaths, forcing calm where anticipation had taken control. He was more than ready for tonight and it showed.

"Whoa." A voice interceded on his thoughts, causing his eyes to pop open, finding Reno standing in his doorway, a smirk on his lips. "Whoever she is that caused that look on yer face, I gotta know, yo."

Tseng's eyes narrowed and he sat up, chair snapping into place. How his subordinate had managed to both open the door and stand there long enough to observe him spoke testament to Tseng's level of distraction. "Aren't you supposed to be on assignment?" he asked, avoiding Reno's insinuation.

One hand waved through the air. "Child's play. Been done with that since this mornin'." He snapped off the door frame, striding toward Tseng's desk with a prowling sort of grace that had attracted Tseng once upon a time, until Reno's personality drove him away. "I'm more interested in what's got ya so distracted, boss." The last was said with a purr as he leaned forward, planting his palms on Tseng's desk.

"And I wonder what Veld was thinking appointing you as subcommander in my absence," Tseng replied with a barely repressed snort.

Reno, however, was not fooled by Tseng's change of subject. "He knows talent when he sees it," he replied flippantly, and tilted his head to the side, blue eyes sharp and incisive. "Who, on all of Gaia, could have caught yer eye, I wonder. Not a civilian, that's for sure. Not another Turk, or I'd know. Someone else then."

Tseng returned his attention to his untouched paperwork, avoiding Reno's inquisitive stare. "I have work to finish before my leave, Reno."

"Military?" Reno continued as though Tseng hadn't spoken, and he stepped back, one hand tapping his chin. "Would have to be. You wouldn't settle for anythin' less than command, too, I wager. And ya do have taste, so that leaves out Heidegger." His lips curved with a familiar, mischievous intent.

Trying not to twitch, Tseng gathered up his many stacks of unsigned documents and clipped them all together, shoving them in the top drawer of his desk. "Are you done?" he demanded as he locked the drawer and slipped his keys back into his pocket, rising to his feet in the same motion.

Reno smirked. "Do ya really think I need ta guess, yo?"

Ignoring him, Tseng edged around his desk, glancing at his clock. A quarter to five. Hmm, close enough. "I am going on leave, Reno, but I will return. Don't think I'll have forgotten this irritation by then."

Reno laughed, following him out of his office, lingering even when Tseng made it obvious he had no interest in listening to his subordinate. "I think it'll be good for you. You could stand to relax, boss."

This time, Tseng completely ignored Reno, heading directly through the outer office and toward the hallway beyond it. Reno's added comment to have fun followed him out the door, but luckily, Reno himself did not follow.

Tseng went home, anticipation curling in his belly, his thoughts bouncing in a million different directions. He showered, was too nervous to eat anything more than a cup of coffee, and packed a bag. For anyone watching, it would appear as though he had met with Sephiroth for some sparring.

At seven o'clock precisely, he arrived at Sephiroth's apartment and pressed the buzzer to announce himself before he could lose his nerve. He waited, with growing expectation, heart thudding in his chest.

The door opened. Sephiroth stood in the entryway, looking utterly edible in a pair of dress slacks and a button-down shirt, the top button loosened and revealing a patch of pale skin. Tseng's mouth went dry.

"Tseng." A smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

"Sephiroth." Tseng inclined his head.

"Please come in."

"Thank you."

All perfectly polite conversation with no hint that Tseng was gobbling Sephiroth up with his eyes, or that he intended to divest Sephiroth of his clothes at the first available opportunity. As Tseng entered and Sephiroth closed the door behind him, Tseng could feel the heated intent of Sephiroth's gaze on him, taking in Tseng's more casual attire, a pair of comfortable jeans and a wool sweater.

The lock on the door engaged with a click; Tseng dropped his bag inside the hallway with a noisy thump.

"What's in the bag?" Sephiroth asked. He sounded amused.

Tseng smirked. "My cover." He paused, gaze flicking around the hallway, noting the three visible doors and the open room at the end, obviously some kind of main area. "Are you going to give me a tour?"

"I thought we were here to spar."

Tseng tossed a look over his shoulder, noting the teasing glint in jade eyes, the way they narrowed with an evident hunger. "If you'd prefer to do so..."

"I didn't say that." Sephiroth gestured ahead of him. "We should start with the main room then."

And so it went. Tseng followed Sephiroth into the massive main room, which was decorated in muted shades of black and grey. One side was decked out like a small gym, with enough open flooring for sparring.

It was very austere, very formal, and very cold. It didn't look lived in, leaving Tseng to wonder if Sephiroth actually spent much time in his apartment. He didn't own a television or sound system, but a bookshelf was packed with books. Tseng nodded approvingly.

Sephiroth then showed him the kitchens, also looking as though they didn't get much use, and Tseng spied several empty cartons of take out in the trash can. The office held more bookcases and a powered down computer terminal. The bathroom had a tub/shower stall combo that was big enough for two, prompting Tseng's mind to go down a distinctly erotic route. Not that he hadn't already been inundated with fantasies.

He was _this_ close to Sephiroth, breathing in the man's heady cologne, practically feeling the tangible heat from the General's body. He could feel Sephiroth's gaze on him and every time Sephiroth touched his arm to guide him, Tseng burned. He wanted. He _needed_ and he wasn't sure how much longer his patience would last.

"This," Sephiroth said, opening a door and gesturing inside, "is my bedroom."

Tseng stepped inside, eyes glancing around approvingly. The bed was large enough for four and seemed to take up most of the room. There were more bookshelves, too. Tseng nodded. This would do.

"I noticed you saved the best for last," Tseng said, half-turning to face the other man who had entered completely, moving to stand next to the Turk.

Jade eyes darkened. "Does it suit?"

"It's perfect," Tseng replied, in a tone that was better described as a purr. He turned, hooked his fingers in Sephiroth's shirt, and dragged the General in for a kiss. Without Sephiroth's intimidating books, they were nearly the same height, which made things a lot easier.

Their mouths crashed together and Tseng moaned into the kiss, pressing against Sephiroth, rubbing their bodies together. Arms came up around him, Sephiroth crushing Tseng to him, his fingers pressing against Tseng's spine as the other hand wandered lower, squeezing and groping through the thick fabric of his jeans.

Tseng went from half-hard to desperately needy in the span of a few seconds. He rolled his hips against Sephiroth's, hungry for friction, loving the taste of Sephiroth on his tongue. His hands smoothed across Sephiroth's chest, one arm curling around the General's neck as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling wetly with Sephiroth's.

Sephiroth was rocking against him, the length of his cock a tangible bulge in the front of his pants. He was no less effected by the kiss, a thought which made Tseng quite giddy.

He reluctantly broke off the kiss, half-breathless, heat flushing his entire body. "Bed?" he suggested.

"Naked," Sephiroth agreed.

Tseng attacked Sephiroth's buttons with a vengeance and battle-scarred hands went for Tseng's belt and zipper. Both articles of clothing were gone in a flash. Sephiroth's pale throat and collarbones were bared and Tseng dropped his mouth to them, laving the ridge of bone with his tongue.

Sephiroth drew in air sharply, pushed down Tseng's boxers, and curled fingers around the Turk's aching length. He stroked Tseng skillfully, Tseng bucking into his hold, liberal amounts of precome easing the way.

Tseng reached for Sephiroth's pants, stripping the General out of them as quickly as possible, pleased to find that Sephiroth wore no underwear. Kinky. He curled fingers around Sephiroth's cock with one hand, and traced the knob of a hipbone with the other. Sephiroth's skin was so pale, all Tseng wanted to do was leave marks in it.

A low groan echoed in Sephiroth's throat. His fingers clenched in their hold of Tseng's cock, a brief squeeze that dragged a noise from Tseng. One that he wasn't sure he would be willing to admit to later.

Sephiroth chuckled, a wholly erotic sound. "I wonder what other sounds I can wring from you."

"Take me to the bed and find out," Tseng replied huskily.

Invitation given, Sephiroth accepted, tipping both Tseng and he to the bed where they landed with a bounce and a tangle of limbs. There was an amusing struggle as Tseng sought to disentangle his pants from his feet and Sephiroth did the same, but then hands and mouths returned to where they ought to be.

Tseng managed to grab a handful of silver hair, fingers running through the silky length of it, while his other hand curled around Sephiroth's cock once again. He threw a leg over the silver-haired man's hips, dragging Sephiroth closer, into a delicious, steady grind. Sephiroth was no less busy, his mouth ruthlessly devouring Tseng's throat, one hand finding a nipple and rolling the sensitive flesh until it pebbled beneath his touch. Tseng arched with a bitten off cry, hating how sensitive his nipples were but loving the pleasurable sensations that were rocketing through him.

"There's another one," Sephiroth said against Tseng's throat, his voice a pleasing rumble that made Tseng shiver.

Tseng released Sephiroth's length and curled an arm around the general, dragging them closer for a satisfying grind. Pleasure shot through him, his pulse throbbing in his veins, as he danced the line of release.

"Are you going to count them all?" he asked, and nipped at Sephiroth's ear, breathing hotly over the curled shell.

Sephiroth growled and Tseng's world shifted sideways as Sephiroth threw his weight around, pinning Tseng beneath him. He grabbed both Tseng's hands, pinning them to the bed beside Tseng's head, his hair a silver curtain around their faces. Sephiroth lowered himself down, their groins coming into spine-tingling contact, their lengths sparring and rubbing, exchanging slick fluids.

"Maybe later," Sephiroth said, and his lips crashed over Tseng's, a desperate kiss that made Tseng groan in his throat. He bucked up against Sephiroth, even as the other man ground down against him.

His pulse racing, breathing stuttered, Tseng gripped Sephiroth's hands. Their bodies pushed and pulled, rocking together, arching toward climax. He moaned into the kiss, Sephiroth's tongue tangling with his own. He could hear the sound of Sephiroth's quickened breathing, he could feel the weight and heat of the general above him.

Tseng's arousal shot into overdrive, his every fantasy come to life in bright technicolor. He felt like he'd been straddling the edge for hours, dancing on the tip of arousal, waiting for Sephiroth to touch him, and to be able to touch Sephiroth in return.

When his release came, it struck him like lightning. Tseng jolted, breaking off from the kiss with a gasp, head thrown back, body surrendering to pleasure. He spurted between their bodies, creating a sticky mess. He bucked up harshly, slamming his hips against Sephiroth's, body undulating beneath the other man's.

Sephiroth breathed a curse, his jade eyes bright with arousal, his fingers tightening almost to the point of pain around Tseng's hands. He grunted, bore down, rigid length sliding messily against Tseng's sensitive flesh. It came as no surprise when he followed Tseng's example within seconds, spilling between their bodies with a bitten off cry of pleasure.

For a moment, the only sound to be had was that of both men sucking in desperate breaths, Sephiroth losing energy and sinking down, resting his forehead on Tseng's bare collarbone. Silver hair mixed with black and sweaty bodies picked up a chill beneath the unrelenting breeze of the ceiling fan.

"Well," Tseng said, groping for something intelligent to say but his brain was no longer firing on all cylinders.

Sephiroth chuckled. "My opinion exactly." He gently released Tseng's hands, sitting back on his haunches as he straddled the Turk splayed out beneath him.

Tseng flexed his fingers, gazing at the delicious picture Sephiroth made. Hair tousled, skin flushed, stomach spattered with a mixture of their come.

"Well," Tseng repeated, licking his lips. "What now?"

Sephiroth flicked a hand through his hair and looked down at Tseng's belly, swirling his free hand through the combined release there. "We do this again. Preferably now." He lifted his hand, examining his finger, before casually tasting the spill on it.

Tseng's cock did a lurch of joy. "My opinion exactly," he said, and lunged forward, trying to pin the general beneath him. Wanting to do with his hands and mouth all the things he had ever fantasized about doing. Over and over, until they were both a dirtied, satiated mess.

Yes. That sounded just fine to him.

***


End file.
